


Picture Perfect

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Selfies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I don’t believe it’s ticking, sir. And the neighbour’s dog didn’t bark, so it can’t contain narcotics.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlbsurfinbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlbsurfinbird/gifts).



> To Owlbsurfinbird, in honour of her birthday. May the day be all you wish it to be!
> 
> With so many thanks to Divingforstones, for stellar BRing services and genuinely pulling my arse out of the fire. You really deserve co-author credit on this!
> 
> * * *

“Morning, sir.”

“Morning, James.” Robbie pauses as he reaches his desk. There’s a parcel in front of his keyboard, wrapped in silver paper with a plain silver ribbon around it. “What’s this?”

“You are a detective, sir.” Robbie rolls his eyes; the bloody smartarse is actually smirking.

“Do I need to send it through scanning?” 

“I don’t believe it’s ticking, sir. And the neighbour’s dog didn’t bark, so it can’t contain narcotics.” James isn’t even pretending to work. He’s playing with a pen, while watching Robbie out of the corner of his eye.

“Bloody cheeky sod.” It’s only what James expects him to say, and the bloke’s smirk widens.

Robbie sits at his desk and examines the parcel. Not gift-wrapped by a shop, he can tell; it lacks that too-perfect look. The edges of the paper aren’t even, and the sellotape pieces are of different lengths. The bow in the ribbon is definitely a little bit askew — although, admittedly, far better than he could manage himself.

Carefully, he unpeels the sellotape, and notices as he does so the faint look of impatience on James’s face. Aha. He holds back a smirk of his own and continues, very slowly, to unwrap the parcel.

Finally, the paper is lying flat on his desk and he’s left with a plain white box. That’s taped on the ends as well, so he rummages for his letter-opener to slit it open. Inside, there is tissue paper — and inside that, what looks like a matt-black photo frame. It’s surprisingly heavy, and he can’t at first see how he’s supposed to open it to get a photograph inside.

“It’s digital, sir.” Impatience has finally got the better of James, and he’s come to hover beside Robbie’s desk.

“Eh?”

“Slide the switch on the side, sir, and you’ll see.”

Oh, right. There is a switch. He moves it to ‘on’ — and there, on the screen, is a lovely photo of Lyn holding baby Jack. It’s not one he’s seen before, and he’s staring at it, trying to figure out how recent it is, when the image changes to one of Lyn and Tim together, Jack in Tim’s arms. 

“Happy birthday, sir,” James says softly as Robbie continues to stare at the screen, now showing Jack lying on the floor, arms and legs in the air.

“How did you...?” There’s an odd lump in Robbie’s throat.

“Lyn helped.” James sounds a touch embarrassed. “I asked her for some photos she thought you’d like to have. She emailed me.... um, quite a few, actually. There are some...” He hesitates. “Well, I hope you won’t think it presumptuous of me.”

The image of Jack fades, to be replaced by a photo Robbie hasn’t seen in years. It’s him and Val with two teenage kids, the four of them standing on the cliffs at Whitley Bay. Lyn must have had it digitised, or whatever it’s called.

He swallows, reaching out to touch the image with his index finger. “We were up visiting Val’s mum, and — well, she could be a bit of a nag, an’ we all needed to get out of the house for a bit. Took a drive out to Whitley Bay, and... Lovely day, that was, in the end.”

James touches the side of the frame, and when the image doesn’t immediately disappear Robbie realises he must have paused it. He reaches out to touch James’s hand. “It’s okay, lad. Let me see what else you’ve put on it.”

James nods and sets the display moving again. “Just so you know, sir, you can change the refresh rate — the time delay between changes. And it has a motion sensor, so it knows when you’re here. When there’s no-one nearby, it goes on standby. And there’s a charger in the box. It’s got a full charge now, and that should last several days at least.”

“James.” 

His sergeant is returning to his own desk, but turns back when Robbie calls him. “Sir.”

“Thank you. I don’t know why you... but this is lovely. Thank you.”

James’s face goes pink. “You’re welcome, sir. Birthday pint later?”

“Aye.” He goes back to looking at the photos as they fade in and out, the gentle clack of James’s keyboard in the background. More of Lyn and Jack, Tim, family photos from years ago, himself with Lyn or holding Jack, and even a couple of recent pictures of Mark he’s never seen. And, suddenly, one of Morse nursing a pint in the beer-garden at the Vicky Arms — just how James got that, he has no idea. And there’s one of himself receiving a commendation, with Morse applauding in the background. 

It’s brilliant. Not anything he could ever have imagined himself wanting, but it’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever given him.

He sets the timer to thirty seconds and gets down to work, glancing up every so often to see what’s displaying. And if he gets a little less work done today than usual as a result, it’s worth it.

* * *

“Cheers, sir. Happy birthday again.”

Robbie touches his glass to James’s. “Thanks, man. It was right good of you to get me that. And to go to all that trouble getting the photos for it.”

“I’m very glad you like it.” James glances downwards, and his neck is flushed pink. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind about some of the photos I included.”

“Val an’ Morse? Course not. Though, actually, I do have a complaint about the photos.” Robbie leans back and takes a sip of his pint.

James’s head jerks up, his expression concerned. “Yes? I can fix whatever you want. The photos are just on a memory card and I have a card reader on my computer...”

“Good. ‘Cause I went through all the photos twice and couldn’t help noticing there’s someone missing.”

“Oh?” James frowns. “Who? I thought I’d included everyone — I even asked Dr Hobson if she’d mind me taking a few of her.”

Yes, he’d noticed Laura appearing here and there. But that’s not who he means. “There’s none of you, soft lad.”

James’s eyes widen. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t, did you?” Robbie nudges James’s arm with his elbow. “You’ll fix it, though, all right? Take some photos with your phone — what do they call them, selfies?”

He shocks a burst of laughter from James. “They do indeed, sir.”

“Well, come on, then.” He shifts closer to James on the bench-seat until their shoulders are pressed together. “This’ll do for a start.”

James takes one picture, and then, as he’s getting ready to take a second just in case, Robbie loops an arm around the bloke’s shoulders, tugging James in closer. The resulting photo, when James shows it to him a few moments later, has caught them with their heads just about touching, a fond smile on Robbie’s face and a rare, unguardedly happy smile on James’s. 

“That’s perfect, man.” For the second time that day, there’s an odd catch in Robbie’s voice. “Get a couple of you on your own as well, yeah?”

James nods agreement, and Robbie gets to his feet to head inside to the bar, but first pauses to press a hand to James’s shoulder. “Make sure you get yourself on the digital thingy tomorrow, all right?”

James looks up at him, and there’s a suspiciously smartarse grin on his face. “As you wish, sir. I was wondering — while I’m at it, is there anyone else you’d like me to include? CS Innocent, perhaps? Peterson?”

“Oi.” Robbie gives the back of James’s head a gentle swipe. “I find one photo I don’t want to see on that frame an’ it’ll be statistical reports all month for you.” His hand comes to rest at the back of James’s neck, and he presses lightly, almost a caress.

There’s a soft click, and he glances down to see that James has taken another photo of the two of them. This time, James is wearing an impish (and all-too-bloody familiar) smirk. And if Robbie himself has a long-suffering expression then, in the light of the last few years with this ruddy smartarse, _that_ seems entirely fitting. And, if he’s honest, he doesn’t mind one bit.

* * *


End file.
